From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. This time they would call it murder. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. I want to leave it for ever. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. ” He said nothing for a space.
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